«&'' 




TRIBUTE 



WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. 



By ROBERT C. WATERSTON, 

AT 

THE MEETING OF THE MASSACHUSETTS HISTORICAL 
SOCIETY, June 13, 1878. 



TRIBUTE 



WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. 



BY 



y 



ROBERT C. WATERSTON, 



THE MEETING OF THE 



'MASSACHUSETTS HISTORICAL SOCIETY, 



June 13, 1878. 



Mitfj an Slppcnliii. 




BOSTON: (^ 
PRESS OF JOHN WILSON AND SON. 

1878. 

9r 



Who first, upon the furrowed land, 

Strewed the bright grains, to sprout, and grow, 
And ripen to the reaper's hand — 

We know not, — and we cannot know : 
But well we know the hand that brought, 

And scattered, — far as sight can reach, — 
The seeds of free and living thought. 

On the broad field of modern speech." 



At the Meetixo 

OF THE 

Massachusetts IIisToniCAi, Society, 

JuxE 13, 1878, 

The PitEsiDEXT of the Society, the Hon. Robert C. Winthrop, 

axxouxckd, with i jipflissive and appropriate remarks, 

The Death of William Cullen Buvant, 

offering the following Resolutions: 

Erintd from Mr. Winthrnp's Remarks. 

The death of the venerable William Cullen Bryant has been announced 
in the public papers at too late a moment before our meeting this morning 
to allow any of us to speak of it, or to speak of him, as we should desire to 
speak. But, as we are not likely to hold another meeting for several 
months, I am unwilling to postpone all notice of so impressive an event. 
A native of our own State, and long an Honorary Member of our own 
Society, his death may well find its earliest mention here, even though our 
tribute be brief and inadequate. As a poet, as a journalist, as a patriot, as 
a pure and upright man, living to an almost patriarchal age, yet never 
losing his interest or relaxing his efforts in whatever might advance the 
honor or welfare of his fellow-men, he has won for himself an imperishable 
remembrance on the page of history. 

No one, certainly, as long as our language shall be read or spoken, will 
forget the author of " Thanatopsis," " The Water-fowl," and the " Land 
of Dreams; " or ever cease to bo grateful for those inspiring and exquisite 
strains. 

His loss is, indeed, primarily and peculiarly, that of our great sister 
city aJid State, with whose interests and renown he has been for so many 
years identified. But his name and fame have long ceased to be local, and 
his death is nothing less than a national bereavement. 



RESOLUTIONS. 

Rcsoli'ed, By the Massachusetts Historical Society, tliat in tliedeatliof our 
distinguished Honorary Member, William Cullen Brvant, our country has 
lost a patriotic and noble citizen, the press an acconiplislicd and powerful jour- 
nalist, and American literature one of its earliest, purest, and most enduring 
ornaments. 

Resolred, That while we remember with pride that he was born in Massa" 
chusetts, and educated at one of our own colleges, our warmest sympathies in 
this bereavement are due, and are hereby offered, to the scholars and to the 
whole people of New York, with whom he has been so long and so eminently 
associated, and to whom his genius and his fame have been ever so justly 
dear. 

Resolved, That these Resolutions be communicated to the New York Histori- 
cal Society, with the assurance that our hearts are with them in lamenting the 
loss, and in doing honor to the meniorj-, of tlieir illustrious associate and vice- 
president. 

Resolred, That a Committee of five be appointed by the chair to represent 
this Society at the funeral of Mr. Bryant. 

The Resolutions were seconded by the 
Rev. R. C. Waterston, 

AT TIIK close of WHOSK KEMAKKS they WEKE ADOPIKD, 

AKD THE PkESIDENT APPOINTED AS THE COMMITTEE TO 

ATTEND Ml!. BrYANT'S FUNEHAL, 

Professor Henry W. Longfellow. 
Professor Oliver Wendell Holmes. 
Rkv. Robert C. Waterston. 
Hon. Richard Frothingham. 
Mr. Delano A. Goddard. 



REMARKS OF REV. R. C. WATERSTON. 



TT is difficult to express the sense of loss which comes to us 
in the death of William CuUen Bryant. He has so long 
been the object of our veneration and love, that he seemed to 
have become an essential part of our life. Few of us can re- 
member when his name did not stand pre-eminent in our litera- 
ture. It is now more than sixt}' years since his " Thanatopsis " 
was published, which at once gained a reputation that has 
never since been questioned. From that time, his active 
public career has kept his name constantly before the com- 
raunitj', and always on the side of patriotism, justice, and 
humanity. With an inflexible purpose, he has vindicated what 
he felt to be right. Whatever seemed to him connected with 
the best interests of humanitj' was dear to his heart. There 
was hardly an enterprise associated with human progress with 
which liis name had not become identified. Venerable in 
age, he still had the fresh energy of youth ; and, tiiough he 
had arrived at a period of life when most men feel that they 
ma)^ retire from active service, he sought no relaxation from 
duty, lie asked no exemption from the weigiit of personal 
responsibility. With In-eadth of thought and profoundness 
of conviction, lie could adapt himself to the immediate wants 
of the time, bringing to eacli occasion what was most needed. 
Thus, when from tiie midst of sucli activity he has been siid- 



6 

denly taken a\vay, it is as if a guiding star had been stiicken 
from the firmament. 

Mr. Bryant was a scholar, yet his life was not passed either 
in studious letirenient, or even, in a scholastic way, among 
books. He was familiar with various languages, ancient and 
modern, retaining with critical exactness his classical knowl- 
edge, yet his hours were habitually occupied with the prac- 
tical business of the time, political economj^ finance, and the 
changing aspects of national affairs. He was an ardent lover 
of Nature, yet his days were, for the most part, associated 
with the crowded thoroughfares of a populous city. His 
poetry was generally calm and contemplative, yet he was in 
daily contact with the most exciting controversies of the 
period, the contentions of conllicting parties, and the agitating 
questions that threatened to disturb communities, and even to 
divide the Nation. It was not so much what he was in any 
one phase of his character, as in the perfect balance of all his 
powers, the manner in which every facidty was brought into 
harmonious action, and the noble spirit with which they were 
tiniformly and persistently devoted to the public good. 

We maj- have had elsewhere as faithful citizens ; as indus- 
trious jinirnalists ; as ripe scholars; — and poets, it may be, 
equally gifted and inspired, but where have we had another 
who has combined in his own person all these ? In him a 
rai'e combination of extraordinary qualities was united; — 
strength and gentleness; elevation of thouglit and childlike 
simplicity ; genius, connnon-sense, and practical wisdom. 
Where there were controverted questions, wiiether men agreed 
with him or not, they never for an instant doubted his noble- 
ness of purpose. It was universally acknowledged that his 
integrity was as immovable as a mountain of adamant ; and 
that, in all his efforts, he had no motive less elevated than the 
public good. 

Bryant, the acknowledged pioneer, lived to become also 
the patriarch, in our world of letters : while those who have 



entered the field at a later day, and have since risen to a 
world-witle reputation, liave never been reluctant to do him 
homage. Familiar as he has been with the literature of other 
countries, no one could mistake the nationality of his writ- 
ings. As there are fruits which take their flavor from the soil 
in which they grow, so what he has written, by its bloom and 
aroma, testifies to the land of its birth. Not onl}' the legends 
and traditions of )iis country, but its scenery and spirit, through 
him have become familiar. He has identified liimself with 
our fields and forests. The sky, the stream, and the prairie, 
speak of him. Tiie winds whisper his name, and in the 
crowded street he is remembered. The gentian and the violet 
ever blend the thought of him with their fragrance. Seed- 
time and harvest, summer and winter, sing his praises. The 
very freshness of Nature comes to us in all he wrote. The 
breath of the woods, the atmosphere of the hills, the light of 
the sun and the stars, are interwoven with his spirit. His 
love, his hope, his faith, liis exalted thouglit, his rapt devotion, 
are identified with tliem all. 

While I speak, I am carried back in thought to pleasant 
days enjoyed with j\Ir. Bryant at Heidelberg. As we stood 
by the "Rent Tower;"' or walked together in the famous 
garden of " Elizabeth," wife of the Count Palatine ; and 
along the " Terrace," which commands one of the most mag- 
nificent views in Europe, I felt that, admirable as were the 
choicest of Mr. Bryant's pi'oductions, he was himself far 
more than the best that had proceeded from his pen. In him 
there was robust nobleness, with quiet repose ; vai-iety and 
completeness ; intuitive insight, and affluence of knowledge. 
Not under any circumstance was there the faintest approach 
to ostentation or dispilay, Init as occasion required, all needed 
information was at hand, and always in the most agreeable 
manner. Whatever else there was, you were sure of substan- 
tial reality. JMr. Brj-ant was a man of close observation and 
exactness. Witli regard to trees and plants, he Iiad the accu- 



8 

racy of a naturalist. The liistor}- and character of every shrul> 
were familiar to him, while with these was a sense of beauty 
and harmony that quivered through liis whole being, an emo- 
tion all tlie deeper because of its calmness. Outward objects 
were reflected from his mind like images in a tranquil lake, 
but not like those destined to pass away. He absorbed them, 
and they became his own. His eye embraced every thing ; 
— the stupendous ruin, the winding river, the encircling 
mountains, the motion of birds, their varied songs, the clouds 
sailing through the heavens, and each floating shadow on the 
landscape. Nothing escaped him. 

Both at Heidelberg and along the Neckar, we climbed the 
hills, wandering among ancient castles and picturesque ruins, 
and bringing away memories never to be forgotten. I felt 
then, as I do now, tliat no man living could be more keenly 
alive to the most delicate aspects of external nature ; or could 
interpret, with truer wisdom, her hidden meaning. 

I had tlie privilege also of being with Mr. Bryant at Naples. 
He first sliowed me the grave of Virgil. We looked from 
that beautiful city out over its world-renowned Bay. I list- 
ened to his inspiring words ujDon Italy, for whose progressive 
future he cherished an unfailing hope. But there were other 
thoughts which pressed upon liis mind. Mrs. Bryant, who 
was journeying witli him, had become suddenly prostrated by 
serious illness. He liad watched over her througli many 
anxious weeks. This cloud, which had thrown its ominous 
shadow over his patlnvay, seemed now lifting, and bursts of 
sunshine filled his heart with joy. At this time, April 23, 
1858, I received from him a note, stating that there was a 
subject of interest upon which he would like to converse with 
me. On the following day, the weather being delightful, we 
walked in the " Villa Reale," the royal park or garden over- 
looking the Bay of Naples. Never can T forget the beautiful 
spirit that breatlied tlirough every word lie uttered, tlie 
reverent love, the confiding trust, the aspiring hope, the 



deep-rooted faith. Every tliouglit, every view, was generous 
and conipreliensive. Anxiously watcliing, as he had been 
doing, in that twiliglit boundary between tliis worhl and 
another, over one more precious to hira than life itself, the 
divine truths and jnomi^es had come home to his mind with 
new power. He stated that he had never united liimself 
with the Church, which with his present feelings he would 
most gladly do. He then asked if it would be agreeable to 
me to come to his room on the morrow and administer the 
Communion, adding that, as he had not been baptized, he 
desired that ordinance at the same time. The day following 
was the Sabbath, and a most heavenly daj'. In fulfilment of 
his wishes, in his own quiet room, a company of seven persons 
celebrated together the Lord's Supper. With li3-mns, selec- 
tion from the Scripture, and devotional exercises, we went 
back in thought to the " large upper room," where Christ 
first instituted tiie Holy Supper in the midst of liis Disciples. 
Previous to the breaking of bread, William Cullen Bryant 
was baptized. With snow-wJiite head and flowing beard, he 
stood like one of the ancient Prophets, and perhaps never 
since the da3"s of the Apostles lias a truer disciple professed 
allegiance to the Divine Master. 

Had he not this veiy hour of the Holy Communion in his 
thouglit, when, in his later published Poems (embracing in 
spiritual sympathy the whole Christian Church), he speaks 
of — 

" The consecrated bi'ead, — 
Tlie mystic loaf that crowns the board, 
When, round the table of their Lord, 

Within a thousand temples set, 
In memory of the bitter death 
Of Him who taught at Nazareth, 

His followers are met, 
And thoughtful eyes with tears are wet, 

As of the Holy One they think, 
The glory of whose rising, yet 

Makes bright the grave's mysterious brink." 



10 

After the service, while standing at the window, looking 
out with Mr. Bryant over the Bay, smooth as glass, (the same 
water over wliich the Apostle Paid sailed, in the ship from 
Alexandria, when he brought Christianity into Italy), the 
graceful outline of the Island of Capri relieved against the 
sky, — with that glorious scene reposing before us, Mr. Bryant 
repeated the lines of John Leyden, the Oriental schoLxr and 
poet ; lines which, he said, had always been special favorites 
of liis, and of which he was often reminded by that holy 
tranquillity which seems, as with conscious recognition, to 
characterize the Lord's Day. 

" With silent awe, I liail the sacred morn, 

That scarcely wakes while all the fields are still ; 
A soothing calm on every breeze is borne, 
A graver murmur echoes from the hill. 
And softer sings the linnet from the thorn. 

Hail, light serene! Hail, .sacred .Sabbath morn ! " 

Never did poet have a truer companion, a sincerer s^siritiial 
helpmate than did Mr. Bryant in his wife. Refined in taste, 
and elevated in thought, she was characterized alike by good- 
ness and gentleness. Modest in herself, she lived wholly for 
him. His welfare, his happiness, his fame, were the cliief 
objects of her ambition. To smooth his pathway, to cheer 
his spirit, to harmonize every discordant element of life, were 
purposes for the accomplishment of which no sacrifice on her 
part could be too great. And nothing could sui-pass the de- 
votion which he extended to her, as marked to the very close 
of her life, a.s in the first year of tlieir union. Never did 
Dante or Petrarch love more profoundly, or pay more immor- 
tal homage to the object of their love. 

In the eaily freshness of lier youtliful bloom, Mr. Bryant 

had sung: — 

" Thy sports, thy wanderings, when a child. 
Were ever in the sylvan wild; 
And all the beauty of the place 
Is in thv heart and on thy face. 



11 

The forest depths, by foot impressed, 
Are not more sinless than thy breast ; 
The holy peace, that fills the air 
Of those calm solitudes, is thei'e." 

Where in tlie whole history of literature can be found a 
more exquisite tribute than that paid to lier in his lines on 
the " Future Life '' ? 

" How shall I know thee in the sphere which keeps 
The disembodied spirits of the dead? 

For I shall feel the sting of ceaseless pain 

If there I meet thy gentle presence not ; 
Nor hear the voice I love, nor read again 

In tliy serenest eyes the tender thought." 

On her recover}^ from illness at Naples, Mr. Bryant wrote 
tlie touching lines on " The Life that is."' 

Thou, who so long hast pressed the couch of pain. 
Oh welcome, welcome back to life's free breath; — 

To life's free breath and day's sweet light again. 
From the chill shadows of the gate of death! 

Twice w'ert thou given me; once in thy fair prime. 
Fresh from the fields of youth, when first we met, 

And all the blossoms of that hopeful time 

Clustered and glowed where'er thy steps were set; 

And now, in thy ripe autumn, once again 

Given back to fervent jirayers and yearnings strong, 

From the drear realm of sickness and of pain 

When we had watclied, and feared, and trembled long. 

Now may we keep thee from the balmy air 

And radiant walks of heaven a little space, 
Where He, who weni; before thee to prepare 

For His meek followers, shall assign thy place. 

vSiuce Mr. Bryant's return to this country, now twenty 
yeai-s ago, I have had pleasant intercourse with him, both 
at Roslyn and Cummington, seeing him in the quiet enjoy- 
ment of home, surrounded by his famih' and amid the delight- 



12 

fill conipanionsliip of books. Nowliere did IVIr. Biyaut appear 
more attractive ; his iiearty cordiality and genial manners 
making every one feel at ease, while his conversation, both 
natural and playful, sparkled with brilliancy ; serious and 
weighty when occasion required, and overflowing with merri- 
ment when tliat was in season. Never was he more charming 
than when, throwing aside formal reserve, he would relate 
with a glow of humor pleasant incidents, bringing, with 
grapiiic power, each scene depicted vividly before his hearers. 
On such occasions he would at times reproduce the voice and 
manner of others with an aljility absolutely startling ; Words- 
worth, Rogers, Combe, Webster, seemed to be in your pres- 
ence ; so individual were the accents, you could hardly believe 
it was not tiiemselves speaking. 

(-)rie day at Roslyn he appeared in the full dress obtained 
at Damascus, slippers, turban, and llowing robes ; wdien, 
seating himself after the manner of the East, he gave an 
interesting account of his experience in Syria and Palestine. 
Fortunate would have been the artist who could have trans- 
ferred the scene to canvas ! At different times he rejjeated 
poems of which he was the author, in a low melodious voice, 
revealing often, with gentle emphasis, unexpected depths of 
meaning. In sucli recitations tiiere seemed no effort of mem- 
ory. The thought was not something apart from himself, 
but a living portion of his nature, through which his life 
thri)l)bed. Perluips no one, wlio has not tluis heard them, 
can fully comprehend their true vitality. 

At Cummington, the place of his birth, it was deeply inter- 
esting to go with him over scenes associated with his early 
days. He showed me the spot where the school-house stood, 
in which he learned his first lessons : and the grassy bank 
over whose green slope he remembered to have romped and 
rolled when a child. We visited together the " Rivulet " 

" whose waters ilrcw 
[lis little feet wUeii life was new." 



13 

Hei-e also were felt his earliest poetic impulses, 

" Duly I sought thy banks, and tried 
My first rude numbers by thy side." 

We wandered ahout, over those beautiful regions, da}' after 
(lay ; and, as memories of the past thronged upon Mr. Bryant's 
mind, it was a rare pleasure to listen to such reminiscences. 
We sought out the lonely spot associated with the "Two 
Graves,"' wliile he related the strange tradition connected with 
the place. We walked also into the "Entrance to a Wood," 

" where tlie thicic ronf 
Of green and stirring branches was alive 
And musical with birds." 

We were at "the old homestead," where Mr. Bryant was 
born, and where he passed all his younger daj-s, remaining 
into early manhood. His father was well known here as tlie 
" Beloved Physician." The place for some years had been 
out of the family, and Mr. Bryant was very happy in the 
thought that he had come into possession of it again. He had 
relniilt the mansion, and made various inipnn ements, saving 
■whatever could be saved, and especially preserving all the old 
landmarks. His own words describe precisely the general 
aspect of the country : — 

" I stood upon the upland slope, and cast 
Mine eye upon a broad and beauteous scene, 
Wliere the vast plain lay girt by mountains vast, 
And hills o"er hills lifted their heads of green, 

With pleasant vales tcooped out, and villages between." 

He mentioned that while studying law with Judge Howe, 
the Judge was greatly concerned when he found him reading 

volume of Wordsworth, fearing it would injure his style. 
Serious warnings were more than once extended against the 
inllumre of that poet. The Judge might have felt still more 
deeply, had he known the powerful impression that writer had 



a 



14 

made upon Br3"iuit's mind. '■ I sliull never forget," says 
Ricdiard H. Dana, " with wliat feeling m_y friend Brj-ant de- 
scril)ed to me the effect produced upon liim l)y Wordswortli'.s 
Balhxds." " A thousand sjMings," he said, "seemed to gush 
up at once in my lieart, - — and the face of Nature, of a sudden, 
to change into a strange freshness and life." 

Mr. Bryant, in speaking of the " Thanatopsis," stated that, 
at a time when he was about to leave iiome, he placed the 
original copy of that poem, together with some other manu- 
script poems, in a drawer in liis father's office. During his 
absence, his fatlier met with the papers, and was so much 
pleased with the "Thanatopsis" that he sent it, without his 
son's knowledge, to tlie editors of the " North American Re- 
view," that periodical having been recently established. Tiiis 
was in 1817, and thus it was published. At that time only 
forty-nine of the eighty-one lines existed, and four verses in 
riiyme prefaced tiiem, which w^ere never intended for such a 
jDOsition. The first sixteen and a half lines and the last fif- 
teen and a half, as they now stand, were afterwards added, 
and several important alterations also introduced. 

j\Ir. Bryant's brother John was on a visit to tiie homestead. 
He was a man of marked ability, and had resided for many 
years in Illinois. He had much to say of his brother's boy- 
hood ; his precociousness, his individuality, and the manner in 
which all the young people of that period looked up to him. 
When he was 3'et quite a child, liis father would offer him a 
dollar to write verses upon a given subject. John repeated 
to me some verses which he yet remembered, written in this 
waj'. He said, " We all looked up to my brotiier as some- 
thing wonderful! ()h," he continued, witli peculiar empha- 
sis, " we thought everything of William." 

The father also was very proud of his boy. Mr. Bryant 
himself says : — 

" he taught my youth 
The art of verse, and in the bud of life 
Offered me to the Muses." 



15 

Mrs. Biyaiit lived eiglit yenvs after her return from Italy, 
and in 1866 passed peaceful!}^ away, " sustained and soothed 
by an unfaltering trust." It was a serious blow, but Mr. 
Bryant met it with that unshaken Christian fortitude, which 
alone could give support. Instead of becoming crushed, he 
braced himself for redoubled activity. With extraoixlinary in- 
tellectual vigor, at the age of seventy-one, he commenced, in 
earnest, the translation of the Iliad. He was at work upon this 
while I was at Cummington. It occupied regularly a portion 
of the day, but did not interfere with any domestic enjoyment. 
He told me he translated from the Greek on an average forty 
lines a day, and at times double that amount. I was every 
day in his study, and saw no English translation among bis 
many books. He had a German translation to which he 
might occasionally refer. He stated that he had always been 
fond of Greek, and that, when he first acquired the knowl- 
edge of that language, a fellow-student, who has since risen to 
eminence in the law, wept because he could not kee];) u}) with 
him. I took to Mr. Brvant a copy of Felton's Lectures on 
Greek Literature, which he had not seen, and which inter- 
ested him. His tran.slation of the Iliad was completed in 
1869, after which he at once commenced tlie Od^'Ssey, which 
he completed in 1871, making six years in which be was 
engaged ujjou the work. Had he executed nothing else, it 
would have been a monument to his ability ; an achievement 
wliieh under the circumstances, at his period of life, may i)e 
considered unsurpassed. 

Thus did Mr. Bryant continue in intellectual vigor to the 
last ; with every faculty in full strength. Even his jjoetic 
genius and artistic skill were unimpaired. At length, on a 
beautiful day, June 12th, — the very month in which he bad 
most desired to go, — he was suddenly taken from us. His 
last word was a tribute to the cause of Liberty ; and his 
closing effort a final demonstration of the exertion he was 
ever ready to make in Ijehalf of others. 



16 I 

I know of notliing more applicable to the present occasion 
tliaii ]\lr. r>ryanfs liitlierto inipublislied words in a note which 
I received from him, on the death of President Quincy, July, -j 
18C4. As I read the page, seemingly fresh from his pen, it is ' 
as if he wei'e himself speaking: — 

" I was about," he writes, " to call it a sad event, but it is 
so only in a limited sense; — sad to those who survive, and 
who shall see his venerable form, and hear his wise and kindly 
words no more ; but otherwise, no more sad than the close of 
a well-spent day, or the satisfactory completion of anv task j 
which has long oecuijied our attention. Mr. Quincy, in lay- 
ing aside the dull weeds of mortality, has with them put off 
old age with its infirmities, and (passing to a nobler stage of 
existence) enters again npon the activity of youth, with more 
exalted powers and more perfect organs. Instead of lament- 
ing his departure at a time of life considerably beyond the 
common age of man, the generation which now iidiabits the 
earth should give thanks that he has lived so long, and should 
speak of the blessing of being allowed for so many years to 
have before them so illustrious an example.'" 

What words conld be found more appropriate to himself? 
I will onlv add his own eloquent utterance on the death of 
his friend Washington Irving: "Farewell, thou hast entered 
into tlie rest prepared, from the foundation of the world, 
for serene and gentle sjjirits like thine. Farewell, happy in 
thy life, liappy in thy death, liappier in the rewai'd to which 
that death was the assured pnissage. The brightness of that 
enduring fame, which thou hast won on earth, is but a 
shadowy symbol of the glory to which thou art admitted 
in the world beyond the grave." 



APPENDIX. 



' Thou hast taught us, with delitjlited eye, 
To gaze upon the mouutains, — to behold, 
With deep affection, the pure ample sky 

And clouds along its blue abysses rolled, 
To love the song of waters, and to hear 
The melody of winds with charmed ear."' 



18 



A N C E S T R Y, 



STEPHEN BRYANT, tlie fouiuku- of die Bryant family on this 
continent, came fiom England, in the "Mayflower," about 1640. 
Ichabod Bryant moved from Raynhain to West Bridgevvater iu 174.5. 
His son, Philip Bryant, was born in 1732, and practised medicine in 
North Bridgevvater, Massaciuisetts ; he married a danghter of Dr. 
Abiel Howard, of Bi-idgewaler. Peter Bryant was boru at North 
Bridgewater, 17()7. He studied medicine, and succeeded his father in 
his profession. He became interested in the daughter of Elienezer 
Snell. Mr. Sn(dl removing with his family to Cninmington, Peter 
Bryant soon followe<l, and was united iu marriage to Sai'ali Snell in 
1792. She was a lineal descendant of John Alden, the famous lieutenant 
of Miles Standish, " the stalwart captain of Plymouth." 

The second child of I'eter and Sarah Bryant was born November 3, 
1794. The name given to this child was William Cullen, in honor 
of Dr. Cullen, the great medical authority of that time, professor in the 
University of Edinburgh ; and thus the name of the distinguished 
Scottish physician lias become associated with American literature, 
and rendered familiar as a household word to the whole American 
)ieople. 



19 



WILLIAM CULLEX ISKYAXT born at (JmrniungUm, od 
November, 1794, in farly youth wrote various poems which 
attracted attention and were widely circulated. In 1808, he pub- 
lished a SiUirieal poem entitled "The Embargo, by a Youth of 
Thirteen." In 1810, at the age of sixteen, he entered Williams 
College. lie took an honorable dismissal in 1812, and commenced 
the study of law with the Hon. William Baylis, of West Bridgewater. 
He afterward studied for two years in the office of Judge Howe. In 
1815, at the age of twenty-one, he was .admitted to the bar. In 1817, 
his ■' Thanatopsis " appeared in the "Xorlh American Keview," 
which was followed by his '• Lines to a Water-fowl." This year he 
took up his residence at Great Barringlon, where he continued until 
182.5, when he removed to New York, and liecarne the editor of the 
"New York Review." He delivered liis poem ori "The Ages" before 
the Phi Beta Kappa Society of Harvard University in 1821. and the 
same year he was married to Frances Fairchild. In 1827, he be- 
came one of the editors of the " Evening Post," which position he 
continued to fill for more than half a century, holding the same at the 
time of his death. In 1804, his seventieth birthday was celebrated bv 
the Century Club, at which the most distinguished literary men of the 
country were present. In 1866, he was called to severe aftiiction in 
the death of his wife, after a most happy union of forty-five years. In 
his seventy-first year, he commenced the translation of the "Iliad," 
and of the "Odyssey" in 1870, both of which translations were com- 
[ileted within the space of six years. On the 29th of May, 1878, lie 
delivered an address in Central Park, New Y'ork, in honor of the 
Italian patriot Mazzini. This was his last public act. lie fell 
exhausted, and on the twelfth day of June a nation mourned his 
departure. 

••CHEERFUL HE GAVE HIS BEIXG UP, AND WENT 
TO SHARl-: THE HOLY REST THAT WAITS A LIFE WELL SPENT." 



20 



FIRST POEM PRINTED. 

The earliest poem of William C. Bryant which found its way into 
type, was written when he was about nine years of age. It was 
recited by him before the school in which he was a pupil, and was 
printed in the '•Hampshire Gazette" as early as 1805. 



INCIDENT AT COLLEGE. 

The year that Mr. Bryant entered Williams College, " Knicker- 
bocker's History of New York" made its appearance ; and, with his 
keen appreciation of humor, he became at ouce so much interested in 
it, that he committed a portion to memory, to repeat as a declamation 
before his class. In the recital, however, he was so comiiletely overcome 
with laughter, that it became impossible for him to proceed. He 
received a rehuka from his tutor, who would have done himself no 
discredit, if he had laughed also. Now that seventy years have gone 
by, are we not, by tliis little incident, drawn yet more closely to one 
who, in the youtiiful sympathy of his nature, felt such a hearty response 
to the irresistible humor of Knickerbocker? 

Twenty-three years after this college expeiieuce, Washington 
Irving, the warm admii-er of Bryant, at that time Secretary of the 
American Legation in London, edited an English edition of Bryant's 
Poems, with a cordial and flattering Introduction. 



21 



AT R O S L Y N. 



"Noiselessly, around, 

From perch to perch, the solitary liird 

Passes." 

Fdi'csI Hi/inn. 

•■ Here builil, and dread no harsher sound. 

To scare you from the sheltering tree, 

Than winds that stir the branches round, 

And murmur of the bee." 

Uclurn nf the Birds. 

" Brood, kind creatures; you need not fear 
Thieves and robbers while I am here." 

liohdi of Lincoln. 

At Roslyn. while we were looking at the trees near the house, I 
observed a large branch upon one of tlicm sawu nearly off, so that 
its weight would have qnickly brought it to llie ground. This result 
was prevented b}' ropes interlacing the branches, carefully securing the 
bough to the main trunk and to the heavier branches above. 

Mr. Bryant, seeing that curiosity was awakened, with a smile gave 
the explanation. 

" ^^y gardener," he said, " came to the couclusion that the absence 
of this bough would be an improvement to the tree. The work of 
destruction was at once commenced, when his purpose attracted my 
notice. On that liraiich," said Mr. Bryant, pointing beneath the 
leaves, " you will see a nest, where the parent birds had been watching 
their young. I instantly ordered the gardener to bring ropes and have 
the brancii carefully secured in its place. It was an awkward tiling to 
accompli.sh ; but he has at least succeeded sufficiently well to leave the 
birds undisturbed, — which is a great satisfaction, — and this accounts 
for what you see." 

If the " Water-fowl " was unconsciously immortalized, and the 
" Bob-o'-link " made the subject of attractive thought, these birds, by 
the same mind, had secured to them their comfortable home, the very 
e.xistence of which was threatened ; while the act itself was so com- 
plete a poem that the autlior did not need to put it into verse. 



90 



A SUNDAY AT CUMMINGTON. 



TIIKRK was one incident connected with our visit to C'uminiiig- 
ton, so cliaracteristic of Mr. Bryant, I am tempted to relate it. 

On Friday, he said to me, as we were walking among the fields: " It 
is my wish that on Snnday we should have religious services in the 
scliool-house. There is no ehnrch-editice near at hand, and the school- 
house will be just the |ilaco. I will spread the intelligence among the 
people, and they will gladly come." 

I stated that I liad no written discourse with me ; and I was not 
sure that I should he able to meet the wants of the people thus called 
together. Mr. Bryant replied, no wi-ilten discourse was needed, that 
the thought which would naturally present itself could be spoken, and 
that nothing coidd be better than to have the simple truths of Chris- 
tianity brought directly home to the heart. 

In replying that I would cheerfvdly do whatever he desired, I may 
as well confess that I atlded, I did not so much mind speaking before 
the people as before him. '•(JliI" said he, with a sweet saiile and a 
half reproving look, " I slionld think you had known me long enough not 
to feel thus. iS'o one will welcome more heartily whatever may be 
said." "Make any arrangement you please,"' I said, ''and I shall re- 
joice to be witli you." 

The next morning, Mr. Brvant and his broiher John left home for 
the school-house. — a pii'turesque little building, and quite within 
sight. Here they were to make any needed |ircparation, and [lut 
things in order for ihe morrow. 

It was not long before they returned with a look of disappointment. 
Something baffled them. What it was they were rather reluctant (o 
communicate. However, they soon made known the fact that the school- 
house would not answer. The desks were all ti.xtui'es, and were 



23 

iiileiuled for younn; cliiklreii. Any needed change was wludlv impracti- 
cable. The impossibility of using that building, for the purpose pro- 
posed, was decisive. Our plans seemed to melt before us. 

So matters rested. Presently, Mr. Bryant and his brother dis- 
appeared, and were no more seen through the whole morning. The 
poet might be deeply engaged over his translation of Homer. The 
battles of the Greeks were, periiaps, absorbing his mind. No: 
the two brotliers were away from home, — no one knew where. At 
length, tliey returned with an evident look of triumpli. " It is ull right ! " 
" We have arranged mutters to our satirfaetion ! " Such were their 
exclamations. The " Homestead," where we were, was midway upou 
the liill. Some ways up, near to the summit of this elevation, Mr. 
Brvant was erecting a house for his son-in-law, Parke Godwin, and 
his family. The building was covered in, but not completed. Car- 
penters and mechanics were busily at work. The brothers had pro- 
ceeded thither to investigate. Mr Bryant was not ready to succumb. 
He had made up his mind to have a service; and a service there 
should be ! 

Why not have it in this new building? The scene looked at present 
like a chaos, with a clutter of shavings and barrels and boards. This 
did not matter. The workmen were ordered to clear the place. All 
hands were soon at work, and the brothers enjoyed it tiioroughly. It 
seemed like old times. They were boys again. They worked with a 
will. The piles of chips and shavings speedily vanished : all rubliisli 
was soon removed from the whole lower floor. Tlien the ([uestion was 
for seats. Boxes and barrels were arranged, and boards laid upon them 
in orderly rows : all this was extemporized in a masterly manner. 
Every difficulty was overcome, and in due time a most primitive place 
of worsliii) was completed, reminding one of tlie Covenanters and the 
Puritans ; though this was a cathedral compared to places where they 
often met. The scene around was certainly grand. — the wide sweep 
of valleys and the vast amphitheatre of wooded hills. 

We now waited for the morrow, which soon came, — a calm Sep- 
tember morning. The population was widely scattered. There was 
no village in the immediate neighborhood. Simple farm-houses ap- 
peared here and there, humble homes under the shadow of spreading 
trees. AVord had been spread from dwelling to dwelling, and farmers 
with their families were seen upon the way. Aged people were there 
with whom the journey of life was nearly ended, and little children in 
tiieir Suudav clothes. Invalids, feeble and worn, who were seldom 



24 

out, and mothers witli tlii-ir iiifiuits in tlieii- arms. Tiicn tliere were I 
strong sunburnt laborers and young men in the vigor of life. The new 
house was soon tlironged. All the seats were occupied. Some of the 
yiiung people were seated upon the stairs, and some stood by the open 
windows. Familiar hymns were sung to tunes in which all could 
unite. It was, in fact, a most touching and beautiful sight, — thoroughly 
earnest and good. I doubt if the sun shone that day upon a truer or j 
happier body of worshippers, and among tliem all, perliap>, no one 
enjoyed it more truly than Mr. Bryant. 

When the services were ended, there were friendly greetings. Mr. 
Bryant apjieared like a father in the midst of his family. All wished 
aud received a pleasant word or look, and evidently valued it as a pa- 
triarchal benediction. Thus closed an occasion not soon by any present 
to be forgotten. 



.John II<)\vaim> IjRYant, a younger brother of William, was born 
at Cunimington, 2'2d Jidy, 1807. In youth, wiiile at the Kensselaer 
school at Troy, he excelled in Mathematics and the Natural Sciences. 
In 1831, at the age of twenty-four, he emigrated to the West, establish- 
ing himself at Princeton, Illinois. At one time he was representative in 
the State Legislature. Communications from his pen have appeared 
at various times in leading periodicals. In 1855, a volume of his poems, 
from the press of his brother William, was published by the Appletons, 
which was favorably received by the public. 

While at Cummington, being one morning alone witli Mr. Bryant 
in his librai'y, he said, " Some of my brother's poems have great 
merit ; " and taking up a copy of the volume from the table, in which 
John had written, " For the Old Homestead," Mr. Bryant said, " Let 
me read to you." He commenced one of the poems, but before pro- 
ceeding far his voice became tremulous ; more and more he was over- 
come by emotion ; until no longer able to read, he handed me the 
book, saying, " Excuse me, — I cannot go on, — please read it yourself." 

Under a calm and nnimpassioned manner, there was in Mr. Bryant's 
nature hidden depths of feeling ; and this tribute to his brother lias 
often come to my recollection, as an instance of his own sensibility, 
aud a proof of the strong bond which united the lirothers. 



2n 



Before my leaving Cummington, Mr. Bryant wrote liis name, as a 
token of remembrance, in a volume of liis Poems, arliling the closing 
verse of his well-known lines to the water-fowl : — 

" lie who, from zone to zone. 

Guides through the boundless sky tliy certain flight. 
In the long xcay that I mwt tread alone. 
Will lead my steps aright.'' 

These words, which had then deep significance, are yet more im- 
pressive now. 



26 



THE COMMUNION-SERVICE AT NAPLES. 



The seven persons wlio were gathered togetlier iit Naples, on tlnit 
beautiful morning in the spring of 1858, were Mr. and Mrs. Bryant, 
their daughter Julia and her friend Estelle Ives, Mr. and Mrs. AVater- 
ston and their daughter Helen. The rite of baptism was also adminis- 
tered to .Julia Bryant and Estelle Ives (now Mrs. Mackie, of Greiit 
Barrington). The three young people united with Mr. Bryant in 
partaking of the Holy Comnnniion for tiie first time. 

Helen Ruthven Waterston, to whom Mr. Bryant paid so exquisite 
a tribute in one of his " Letters from Spain," was in the bloum of her 
youtli and beauty. An illness soon followed ; and, on the 25th of] 
July, — three months from the day and hour of that hallowed service, 
— her spirit passed avvay, on a peaceful Sunday morning. As will 
be readily understood, such tender associations united us all together by 
very sacred ties. 



27 



WILLIA:\[ C. BRYANT AND RICHARD H. DANA. 



WiiEX the '• TliaiKUo|isis," :in<l linos " To a Water-fowl," were sent 
to the editors of tlie " North American Review," they were sent by 
Dr. Bryant, the father, anonymously. It was not even stated that 
they were by the same person. The editing of the periodical was 
under the special charge of Richard H. Dana and Professor Chaiuiing. 
These jioenis were placed in the hands of Mr. Dana. After read- 
ing them, he said, "I do not tlniik these poems were written by an 
American." " Why so ? " was the response. " I do not know of an}' 
American," replied Mr. Dana, " who could have written them." 

This statement was made to me by Mr. Dana himself, who had the 
fullest appreciation of the remarkable character of the productions. He 
was eager to welcome this new compeer into the world of letters. 
His curiosity was aroused; and, when informed that tlie name of the 
writer was Bryant, who was tiien a member of the Massachusetts 
Legislature, Mr. Dana (residing at that time in Cambridge) at once 
came into the city, and repaired to the State House, where the 
Representative, Dr. Peter Bryant, from Cummington, was pointed 
out. Mr. Dana told me lie looked upon the gentleman designated 
with deep interest. He saw a man of striking presence, but the stamp 
of genius was wanting; and, with unfeigned disappointment, he said, 
'•That is a good head, but I do not see the ' Thauatopsis' there!" 

This exclamation, so remarkable for penetration anil originalily, was 
characteristic of Mr. Dana's sagacious judgment. He could recognize 
genius, he was ready and anxious to extend a cordial salutation ; but 
he was convinced that, in the decision here made, he had judged rightly. 

At no distant day, the two kindred minds came together, differing, 
yet harmonious ; when immediately a friendship was formed, which, 
amid the vicissitudes of half a centu'iy, proved indissoluble. 

Mr. Dana is yet with us, in the ripeness of years, all his faculties 
strong and vigorous. Long may Providence spare him, to be unto 
nianv a counsellor and a friend. 



" On my heart 
Deeply liatli sunk the lesson thou hast given, 
And shall not soon depart." 



29 



FOUR versi'S were priiiteil in the " North Aniericau Review," iis an 
introduction to the '• Thanatopsis." It was never intended by 
Mr. Brj'ant that they should thus have been published. They were sent, 
through mistake, by his father, with the manuscript of " Tlianatopsis." 
They were originally written as a separate production ; as such, they 
are worth jireserving. They have never been included by Mr. Bryant 
in any collected edition of his Poems ; but they are interesting from 
their histoiy, and as the expression of his views in the earlier period 
of life : — 

Not that from life, and all its woes, 
The hand of death sliall set me free; 

Not that this head shall then repose 
In the low vale most peacefully. 

Ah I when I touch Time's farthest brink, 

A kinder solace must attend: 
It chills my very soul to think 

On the dread hour when life nuist end. 

In vain the flattering verse may breathe 
Of ease from pain and rest from strife ; 

There is a sacred dread of death 
Inwoven with the strings of life. 

This bitter cup at first was given, 
When angry Justice frowned severe; 

And 'tis the eternal doom of Heaven 

That man must view the grave with fear. 



30 



Through wliat Mr. Bryant has written at successive periods of life, 
we can see tliat liis mind was more and more illumined by an exalted 
Christian failli. In the following veises, Christ, risen and glorified, 
o|)ens to the view visions of heaven: — 

JESUS OF NAZARETH. 

" / sh(tU not dte, but Itve." 

All praise to Him of Kazareth, 

The Holy One who came, 
For love of man, to die a death 

Of agony and shame. 

Dark was the grave; but since lie lay 

Within its dreary cell, 
The beams of Heaven's eternal day 

Upon its threshold dwell. 



He grasped the ii'on veil ; He drew 
Its gloomy folds aside, 

And opened to his followers' view 
The glorious world they hide. 



Unspeakable consolation breathes through every word of the 
following verses. How many anxious and sorrowing hearts have here 
found comfort and peace ! 

BLESSED ARE THEY THAT MOURN. 

Deem not that they are blessed alone 

Whose days a peaceful tenor keep ; 
The God, who loves our race, has sliown 

A blessing for the eyes tliat weep. 



The light of smiles shall fill again 
Tlie lids that overflow with tears ; 

And weary hours of woe and pain 
Are promises of hapjpier years. 



I 
I 



31 

There is a day of suiuij- rest 

For evei'y dark and troubled night : 

And Grief may bide an evening guest; 
But Joy sliall come with early light. 

And thou, who, o'er thy friend's low bier, 
Dost shed the bitter drops like rain, 

Hope that a brighter, happier sphere 
Will give him to thy arms again. 

Nor let the good man's trust depart, 
Though life its common gifts deny ; 

Though, with a pierced and bleeding heart, 
And spurned of men, he goes to die. 

For God hath marked each sorrowing day. 
And numbei'ed every secret tear. 

And heaven's long age of bliss shall pay 
For all his children suffer here. 



Again, in liis lines on '■ Waiting by the Gate," he says : — 

Some approach the threshold whose looks are blank with fear, 
And some whose temples brighten with joy in drawing near, 
As if they saw dear faces, and caught the gracious eye 
Of Him, the Sinless Teacher, who came for ijs to die. 

I mark the joy, the terror; yet these, within my heart, 
Can neither wake the dread nor the longing to depart; 
And, in the sunshine streaming on quiet wood and lea, 
I stand and calmly wait, till the hinges turn for me. 



32 



MR. BRYAXT, ill n private note, — quoted in the reniiirks, — 
dateil Roslyii, July 7th, 18G4, — while speaking of the death 
of Presiileiit Quincy, who had just departed this life, in his ninety-third 
year, says, ''Mr. Qiiiney Iius put off old age with all its iniirmities, and 
(passing to a nobler stage of existence) enters again vpon the aciivity 
of youlli^ with more exalted powers and more perfect organs." 

This inspiring tlionght was with Mr. Bryant more than a poetic 
imagination, it was a living faith, a deep and abiding conviction. He 
has given exquisite expression to the same sublime idea in his verses 
entitled "The Return of Youth." 

This poem, we think, may be counted among the most perfect pro- 
ductions of Mr. Bryant's genius. The grand idea of immortality, here 
presented, not only robs the grave of its terror, but lifts the tliought 
triumphantly to realms of celestial splendor; not vague and unreal, but 
natural and liomelike ; kindling in the mind an almost infinite longing. 
He addresses a frituid who is sorrowing over the loss of his golden primr. 
the youthful years which have taken fliglit only too soon, wliile the 
shadows of time are swiftly falling. '• Look not," exclaims tiie Fori 
"with despair to thv Past. but. with glowing anticipation, gaze into the 
Future ! " 

THE RETURN OF YOUTH. 

(In, grieve thou not, nor think thy youth is gone, 

Nor deem that glorious season e'er could die: 
Thy pleasant youth, a little while withdrawn, 

■Waits on the horizon of a brighter sky; 
Waits, like the Morn, that folds her wings ami hides 

Till the slow stars bring back lier dawning hour ; 
Waits, like the vanished Spring, that slumbering bides 

Her own sweet time to waken bud and flower. 

There shall he welcome thee, when thou shalt stand 

On his bright morning liills, with smiles more swet 
Than when at first he took thee by the hand, 

Through the fair earth to lead thy tender feet. 
He shall bring back, but brighter, broader still. 

Life's early glory to thine eyes again. 
Shall clothe thy spirit with new strength, and fill 

Thy leaping heart with warmer love than then. 



I 



33 



Hast thou not glimpses, in the twilight here, 

Of mountains where immortal morn prevails? 
Comes there not, through the silence, to thine ear 

A gentle rustling of the morning gales ; 
A murmur, wafted from that glorious shore, 

Of streams that water banks for ever fair, 
And voices of the loved ones gone before. 

More musical in that celestial air? 



Natl'kally was it remembered, when Mr. Bryant's spirit passed 
fpiietly away ou a beautiful day in June, that it was in accordance with 
liis expressed wish ; and many fondly repeated what he had written 
years awo, and felt that Providence had kindl}' heard ami answered his 
prayer. 

I thought that when I came to lie 

At rest within the ground, 
' Twere pleasant, that in flowery June, 
When brooks send up a cheerful tune 

And groves a joyous sound. 
The sexton's hand, my grave to make, 
The rich, green mountain-turf should break. 



Blue be the sky and soft the breeze. 

Earth green beneath the feet. 
And be the damp mould gently pressed 
Into my narrow place of rest. 

There, through the long, long summer hours. 

The golden light should lie. 
And thick young herbs and groups of flowers 

Stand in their beauty by: 
The oriole should build, and tell 
His love-tale close beside my cell. 



And when we think of the last service at Roslyn, and of that peace- 
ful resting-place by the side of his beloved wife, amid scenes so long 
familiar, we may well continue to repeat his words, — 



34 

■ And what if cheerful sliouts, at noon, 

Come from the vilUige sent, 
Or song of maids, beneath the moon, 

With fairy laughter blent? 
And what if, in the evening light, 
Betrothed lovers walk in sight 

(_)f my low monument? 
I would the lovely scene around 
Might know" no sadder sight nor sound. 

And if, aroiuid my place of sleep, 

The friends I love should come to weep. 

They might not haste to go; 
Soft airs, and song, and light, and bloom 
Should keep them lingering by my tomb." 



Thus was it that his wish, like a presentiment, was to be fulfilled ; 
and when tliat event, so prefigured, arrixed, literally true to his own 
words, he went 

" Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch 
About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams." 

And even more fully floes he depict his entrance upon the Great 
Future, when in his "Journey of Life," he says,- — • 

" — I, with faltering foot.steps, journey on, 
Watching the stars that roll the hours away, 

Till the faint light, that guides me now, is gone, 
And, Uke another life, the glorious day 
Shall open o'er me, from the empyreal height. 
With warmth, and ckktainty, and uou>dless light." 

" Even then he trod 
The threshold of the world unknown; 

Already, from the seat of God, 
A ray upon his garments shone." 



" Why weep ye then for him, -who, having won 
The bound of man's appointed years, at last. 
Life's blessings all enjoyed, life's labors done, 

Serenely to his final rest has passed; 
While tlie soft memory of his virtues, yet, 
Lingers, like twilight hues, when the bright sun is set? ' 



POETICAL TRIBUTES 



F R A N (; E 8 F. B R Y A N T, 



WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. 



EStittcit at i'l'arimis Seasons , 



TIIROfGII MANY YEARS OF DKVOTKD AKKKCTION. 



TiiESK poems, adilrcssed to Mrs. Bryant, are reprinted from Mr. 
Bryant's collected works, partly as a tribute to her memory, and in part 
that tliey may stand together and be so read. As usually printed, the 
reader might not necessarily associate them with Mrs. Bryant; for instance, 
in tlie lines headed '' Tlie Twenty-seventh of March," no mention is made 
that this was the birthday of Mrs. Bryant. These lines, for several years, 
like other tributes to her, were retained in manuscript, and held as too 
private and sacred for general publication. Mrs. Bryant's unaffected 
modesty shrunk from pulilicity, which was doubtless the reason why the 
name was originally witliheld ; but now that she has entered into tliat state 
of being where they are in heavenly companionship, it is pleasant to bring 
these unsurpassed expressions together, as the utterance of a love that 
knew no change save that it grew deeper and stronger as the years 
wore away. 



I 



39 



OH, FAIREST OF THE RURAL MAIDS. 

Tliis poem, addressed by Mr. Bryant to Fninccs Faircliikl, was written amid 
tlic beautiful scenery of Great Barrington early in that acquaintance wliicli led 
to their union in 1821. — the same year in which liis poem of "The Ages " was 
given betbre tlie Plii Beta Kappa Society, at Cambridge. 

/^H, fairest of tlie rural maid.s! 
^-^ Thy birth was iu the forest shades ; 
(Ireen boughs, and glimpses of the sky, 
Were all that met thine infant eye. 

Thy sports, thy wanderings, when a child, 
AVere ever in the sylvan wild; 
And all the beauty of the place 
Is in thy heart, and on thy face. 

The twilight of the trees and rocks 
Is in the light shade of thy locks; 
Thy step is in the wind, that weaves 
Its playful way among the leaves. 

Thine eyes are springs, in whose serene 
And silent waters heaven is seen ; 
Their lashes are the herbs that look 
On their young figures in the brook. 

The forest depths, by foot uupressed, 
Are not more sinless than thy breast; 
The holy peace, that fills the air 
Of those calm solitudes, is there. 



40 



THE TWENTY-SEVENTH OF MARCH. 

Mrs. Bri/ant's Urthdmj. Widlen March, 18.55. 

Oil, gentle one, thy birthday sun should rise 
Amid a chorus of the merriest birds 
That ever .sang the stars out of the sliy 
In a June morning. Rivulets should send 
A voice of gladness from their winding paths, 
Deep in o'erarching grass, where playful winds, 
Stirring the loaded stems, .should shower the dew 
Upon the glassy water. Newly blown 
Roses, by thousands, to the garden walks 
Should tempt the loitering moth and diligent bee. 
The longest, brightest day in all the year 
Should be the day on which thy cheerful eyes 
First opened on the earth, to make thy haimts 
Fairer and gladder for thy kindly looks. 

Thus might a poet say; but I must bring 

A birthday offering of an humbler strain, 

And yet it may not please thee less. I hold 

That 'twas the fitting season for thy birlh 

When March, just ready to depart, begins 

To soften into April. Then we have 

The delicatest and most welcome flowers. 

And yet they take least heed of bitter wind 

And lowering sky. The periwinkle then, 

In an hour's sunshine, lifts her azure blooms 

Beside the cottage-door: within the woods 

Tufts of ground-laurel, creeping underneath 

The leaves of the last summer, send their sweets 

Up to the chilly air, and, by the oak. 

The squirrel-cups, a graceful company, 

Hide in their bells a soft aerial blue — 

Sweet flowers, that nestle in the humblest nooks. 

And yet within who.se smallest bud is wrapt 

A world of promise ! Still the north wind breathes 

His frost, and .still the sky sheds snow and sleet; 

Yet ever, when the sun looks forth again, 

The flowers smile up to him from their low seats. 



41 



Well hast tliou borne the bleak March day of life. 

Its storms and its keen winds to thee have been 

Most kindly tempered, and through all its gloom 

There has been warmth and sunshine in thy heart; 

The griefs of life to thee have been like snows, 

That light upon the fields in early spring. 

Making them greener. In its milder hours, 

The smile of this pale season, thou hast seen 

The glorious bloom of June, and in the note 

Of early bird, that comes a messenger 

From climes of endless verdure, thou hast heard 

The choir that fills the summer woods with song. 

Now be the hours that yet remain to thee 

Stormy or sunny, sympathy and love, 

That inextinguishably dwell withiu 

Thy heart, shall give a beauty and a light 

To the most desolate moments, like the glow 

Of a bright fireside in the wildest day ; 

And kindly words and offices of good 

Shall wait upon thy steps, as thou goest on, 

Where God shall lead thee, till thou reach the gates 

Of a more genial season, and thy path 

Be lost to human eye among the bowers 

And living fountains of a brig-hter land. 



THE FUTURE LIFE. 

IVfitlen in 1837. 

How shall I know thee in the sphere which keeps 

The disembodied spirits of the dead ; 
When all of thee that time could wither sleeps 

And perishes among the dust we tread? 

For I shall feel the sting of ceaseless pain 
If there I meet thy gentle presence not ; 

Nor hear the voice I love, nor read again 
In thy serenest eyes the tender thought. 

Will not thy own meek heart demand me there? 

That heart whose fondest throbs to me were given ■ 
My name on earth was ever in thy prayer, 

And wilt thou never utter it in heaven? 
G 



42 



In meadows fanned by heaven's life-bi'eatbing wind. 
In the resplendence of that glorions sphere, 

And larger movements of the unfettered mind, 
Wilt thou forget the love that joined us here? 

The love that lived through all the stormy past, 
And meekly with my harsher nature bore. 

And deeper grew, and tenderer to the last, 
Shall it expire with life, and be no more? 

A liap)iier lot than mine, and larger light. 

Await tliee there, for thou hast bowed thy will 

In cheerful homage to the rule of riglit. 
And lovest all, and renderest good for ill. 

For me, the sordid cares in which I dwell 

.Shrink and consume my heart, as heat the scroll ; 

And wrath has left its scar — that fire of hell 
Has left its frightful scar upon my soul. 

Yet, though thou wear'st the glory of the sky, 
Wilt thou not keep the same beloved name. 

The same fair thoughtful brow, and gentle eye, 
Lovelier in heaven's sweet climate, yet the same? 

Shalt thou not teach me, in that calmer home. 
The wisdom that I learned so ill in this — 

The wisdom which is love — till I become 
Thy fit companion in that laud of blLss? 



THE CLOUD ON THE WAY. 

See before us, in our journey, broods a mist upon the ground ; 
Thither leads the path we walk in, blending with that gloomy bound. 
Never eye hath pierced its shadows to the mystery they screen ; 
Those who once have passed within it never more on earth are seen. 
Now it seems to stoop beside us, now at seeming distance lowers, 
Leaving banks that tempt us onward bright with summer-green and 
flowers. 



43 

Yet it blots the way for ever; there our journey ends at last; 

Into that Jark cloud we enter, and are gathered to the past. 

Thou who, ill this flinty pathway, leading through a stranger-land, 

I'assest down the rocky valley, walking with me hand in hand, 

Which of us shall be the soonest folded to that dim Unknown V 

Which shall leave the other walking in this flinty path alone? 

Even now I see thee shudder, and thy cheek is white with fear. 

And thou clingest to my side — as comes that darkness sweeping near. 

" Here," thou say'st, " the path is rugged, sown with thorns that wound 

the feet; 
But the sheltered glens are lovely, and the rivulet's song is sweet; 
Roses breathe from tangled thickets; lilies bend from ledges brown ; 
Pleasantly between the pelting showers the sunshine gushes down; 
Dear are those who w'alk beside us, they whose looks and voices make 
All this rugged region cheerful, till I love it for their sake. 
Far be yet tlie hour that takes me where that chilly shadow lies, 
From the things I know and love, and from the sight of loving eyes." 
So thou murmurest, fearful one: but see, we tread a rougher wav; 
Fainter glow the gleams of sunshine, that upon the dark rocks play; 
Rude winds strew the faded flowers upon the crags o'er which we pa.ss: 
Banks of verdure, when we reach them, hiss with tufts of withered grass. 
(Ine by one we miss the voices which we loved so well to hear; 
One by one the kindly faces in that shadow disappear. 
Yet upon the mist before us fix thine eyes with closer view; 
See, beneath its sullen skirts, the rosy morning glimmers through. 
One whose feet the thorns have wounded, jiassed that barrier and came 

back. 
With a glory on His footsteps lighting yet the dreary track. 
Boldly enter where He entered; all that seems but darkness here, 
When thou hast passed beyond it, haply shall be crystal-clear. 
Viewed from that serener realm, the walks of human life may lie, 
Like the page of some famihar volume, open to thine eye; 
Haply, from the overhanging shadow, thon may'st stretch an unseen 

hand. 
To support the wavering steps that print with blood the rugged land. 
Haply, leaning o'er the pilgrim, all unweeting thou art near, 
Thou may'st whi,sper words of warning or of comfort to his ear, 
Till, beyond tiie border where that brooding mystery bars the sight, 
Those whom thou hast fondly cherished stand with thee in peace and 

light. 



44 



THE LIFE THAT IS. 

iVritlm at Ciistcllcimare, ajier Mrs. Brijanl's recovery from illness in Naples, 
May, 1858. 

Tiioti, who so long liast pres.secl the couch of pain, 
Oh. welcome, welcome back to life's free breath; — 

To life's free breath and day's sweet light again, 
From the chill shadows of the gate of death. 

For thon liadst reached the twilight bound between 
The world of spirits and this grosser sphere; 

Dimly by thee the things of earth were seen. 
And faintly fell earth's voices on thine ear. 

And now. how gladly we behold, at last. 

The wonted smile returning to thy brow ; 
The very wind's low whisper breathing past, 

In the light leaves, is music to thee now. 

Thou wert not weary of thy lot; the earth 

Was ever good and pleasant in thy sight ; 
Still clung thy loves about the household hearth; 

And sweet was every day's returning light. 

Then welcome back to all thou would'st not leave, 
To this grand march of seasons, days, and hours ; 

The glory of the morn, the glow' of eve. 

The beauty of the streams, and stars, and flowers ; 

To eyes on which thine own delight to rest ; 

To voices w'hich it is thy joy to hear ; 
To the kind toils that ever pleased thee best. 

The willing tasks of love, that made life dear. 

Welcome to grasp of friendly hands; to prayers 
Offered where crowds in reverent worship come ; 

Or softly breathed amid the tender cares 
And loving inmates of thy quiet home. 

Tliou bring'st no tidings of the better land. 

Even from its verge ; the mysteries opened there 

Are what the faithful heart may understand 
In its still depths, yet words may not declare. 



45 

And well I deem, that, from the brighter side 
Of life's dim border, some o'erflowing rays, 

Streamed from the inner glory, shall abide 
Upon thy spirit through the coming days. 

Twice wert thou given rac; once in thy fair prime, 
Fresh from the fields of youth, when first we met, 

And all the blossoms of that hopeful time 

Clustered and glowed where'er thy steps were set. 

And now, in thy ripe autumn, once again 

Given back to fervent prayers and yearnings strong, 

From the drear realm of sickness and of pain, 

AVhen we had watched, and feared, and tremljled long. 

Now may w'e keep thee from the balmy air 
And radiant walks of heaven a little space. 

Where He, who went before thee to prepare 
For His meek followers, shall assign thy place. 



'' Death should come 
Gently, to one of gentle mould like thee. 

As light winds wandering through groves of bloom 
Detach the delicate blossoms from the tree : 

Close thy sweet eyes, calmly, and without i)ain; 

And we will trust in God to see thee yet again.'' 



Ills love of truth, too -warni, too strong 
For Hope or Fear to chain or chill, 

His hati' of tyranny and wrong 

]!iii-n ill the hreasts he kindled still." 



ME. BRYANT'S LAST ADDRESS, 

IN THE 

CENTRAL PARK, NEW YORK, 

29iH OF Mav, 1878. 



" ]Maii foretells afar 
Tlie courses of the stars ; — the very liour 
He knows when they shall darken or grow bright ; 

■^ ^ -ift -^S- -Jfe Sif- 'if; 

Yet doth the eclipse of Sorrow and of Death 
Come — unf ore warned ! " 



Voices from the mountains speak, 

Apennines to Alps reply ; 
Vale to vale and peak to peak 
Toss an old-remembered cry : 
'Italy — shall be fkee!' 

Such the mighty shout that fills 
All the passes of her hills." 



49 



Kxtrncts from ^fr. Bri/nnt's Achlress in ihe Central Parle, '2M Mai/, 1878. 

OX UNVEILING THE BUST OF MAZZINI, THE ITALIAN 
STATESMAN. 

IIiSToRV, my fiiends, has recorded tlie deed.s of IMazziiii on a tablet 
wliic-li will endure while the annals of Italy are read. To-day a bust 
is unveiled which will make millions familiar with the Divine image 
stamped on the countenance of oiie of the greate.st men of our times. 

The idea of Italian unity and liberty was the passion of Mazzini's 
life. It took possession of him in youth ; it grew stronger as the 3-ears 
went on, and lost none of its power over him in his age. Nor is it at 
all surprising that it should have taken a strong hold on his youthful 
imagination. 

I )-ecollect very well that when, forty-four years ago, I first entered 
Italy, — then held down under the weight of a score of despotisms, — 
the same idea forcibly sugge^^ted itself to my mind as I looked soutii- 
ward from the slopes of the mountain country. There lay a great sister- 
hood of provinces, requiring only a confederate republican government 
to raise them to the rank of a great power, presenting to the world a 
single majestic fi'ont, and parcelling out the powers of local legislation 
and government among the different neighl)orhoods in such a maimer as 
to educate the whole population in a knowledge of the duties and rights 
cif fieemeu. There were the industrious Piedmontese, the enterprising 
(Genoese, among whom Mazzini was born, — a countrvmau of Colum- 
lius ; there were the ambitious Venetians and the Lombards, rejoicing 
in their fertile plains ; and there, as the imagination followed the ridge 
of the Apennines toward the Strait of Messina, were the Tuscans, 
famed in letters ; the Umbrians, wearing in their aspect the tokens of 
Latin descent ; the Eomans, in their centre of arts ; the gay Neapoli- 
tans ; and, further south, the versatile Sicilians, over whose valleys rolls 
the smoke of the most famous volcano in the world. 

As we traverse these regions in thought, we recognize them all as 
parts of one Italy, yet each inhabited by Italians of a diiferent char- 

7 



I 



50 

acter from the rest; all speaking Italian, but with a (lifforence in 
each province ; each region cherishing its peculiar traditions, wiiich 
reach back to the beginning of civilization, and its usages observed for 
ages. 

Well might the great man, whose bust we at this time disclose to the 
public gaze, be deeply moved by this spectacle of his countrymen and 
kindred bound in the shackles of a brood of local tyrannies which kejit 
them apart, that they might with more ease be oppressed. 

AVhen he further considered the many great men who had risen from 
time to time in Italy, as examples of the intellectual endowments of her 
people, — statesmen, legislators, men of letters, men eminent iu philoso- 
phy, in arms, and in arts, — I say that he might well claim for his birth- 
place of such men the unity of its provinces to make it great, and the 
liberty of its people to raise them up to the standard of their mental 
endowments. Who shall blame hira — who in this land of freedom — 
for demanding in behalf of such a country a political constitution fiamed 
on the most liberal pattern which the world has seen ? 

For such a constitution he plainied; for that he labored ; that object 
he never suffered to be out of sight. No proclaimer of a new religion 
was ever more faithful to his mission. 

Here, where we have lately closed a sanguinary but successful war 
in defence of the unity of the States which form our Republic; here, 
where we have just broken the chains of three millions of Iiondsmen, 
is, above all others, the place where a memorial of the great chanipi<jn 
of Italian unity and liberty should be set up amid a storm of acclama- 
tion from a multitude of freemen. 

Yet, earnestly as he desired these ends, and struggled to attain them, 
the struggle was a tioble and manly one. He disdained to compass 
these ends by base or ferocious means. 

******* 

There was no trial he would not endure, no sacrifice, uo labor he 
would not undertake, no danger he would not encounter, for the sake of 
that dream of his youth and pursuit of his manhood, — the unity and 
liberty of Italy. 

The country is now united under one political hea<l, save a portion 
arbitrarily and unjustly added to France ; and to the public opinion 
formed in Italy by the teachings of Mazzini, the union is in large 
measure due. Italy has now a constitutional goveriurient, the best 
feature of which it owes to the principles of republicanism, in whic-h 
Mazzini trained a whole generation of the young men of Italy, however 



51 

short tlie present go%'ernmciit of the country may foil of tlie ideal 
standard at which he aimed. 

One great result for whicli he hibored was the perfect freedom of 
religious worship. Well has he deserved the honors of posterity who, 
holding enforced worship to be an abomination in the sight of God, 
took his life in his hand and went boldly forward, until the yoke of the 
great tyranny exercised over the religious conscience in his native 
country was broken. Such a hero deserves a monument in a land 
where the government knows no distinction between the leligious de- 
nominations, and leaves I heir worship to their consciences. 

I will not say that he whose image is to-day unveiled was prudent in 
all his proceedings: nobody is; timidity itself is not always prudence. 
But wherever he went, and whatever he did, he was a power on earth. 
He wielded an immense influence over men's minds; he controlled a 
vast agency, he made himself the centre of a wide diffusion of opinions ; 
his footsteps are seen in the track of history by those who do not al waj-s 
reflect by whose feet they were impressed. 

Such was the celerity of his movements, and so sure the attachment 
of his followers, that he was the terror of the crowned heads of Europe. 
Kings trembled when they heard that he had suddenly disappeared 
from London, and breathed more freely when they learned that he was 
in his grave. In proportion as he was dreaded, he was maligned. 

Image of the illustrious champion of civil and religious liberty, cast 
in enduring bronze to typify the imperishable renown of thy original ! 
Remain for ages yet to come where we place thee, in this resort of 
millions. Remain till the day shall dawn — far distant though it be — 
when the rights and duties of human brotherhood shall be acknowl- 
edged by all the races of mankind. 



Such were Mr. Bryant's last public words. 



52 



Exlrart from llarpn's ]\foiillilij for Aiujusl, 1878. 
ON THE DEATH OF WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. 

There was a mournful propriety in the circumstances of the death 
of Bryant. He was stricken just as he liad discharged a character- 
istic duty with all the felicity for which lie was noted ; and he was, 
probaldy, never wholly conscious from that moment. Happily, we may 
believe that he was sensible of no decay, and liis intimate friends had 
noted little. He was hale, erect, and strong to the last. All his life 
a lover of nature and an advocate of liberty, he stood under the trees, 
on a bright spring Aay, and paid an eloquent tribute to a devoted ser- 
vant of liberty in another land, and, while his words yet lingered in the 
ears of those who heard him, he passed from human sight. 

There is, probably, no eminent man in the country upon whose life, 
and genius, and career the verdict of his fellow-citizens would be more 
immediate and unanimous. 

His character and life had a simplicity and austerity of outline that 
had become universally familiar, like a neighboring mountain or sea 

His convictions were very strong, and his temper uncompromising. 
He was independent beyond most Americans. Bryant carried with 
him the mien and the atmosphere of antique public virtue. He seemed 
a living embodiment of that simplicity and severity and dignity which 
we associate with the old republics. A wise stranger would have 
called him a man luirtured in republican and upon republican tra- 
ditions. 



53 



Extract fi'om Scribntr^s Monthly Jor August, 1878. 
OX THE DEATH OF WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. 

Nothing can be purer, nothing more natural, nothing more enduring 
than hi.s reputation; for it \va.s based in real genius, genuine character, 
and kgilimate achievement. 

In his own personal character and history he associated probity with 
genius, purity with art, and the sweetest Christianity with the highest 
culture. 

He was a great man ever}- way, — great in his gifts, great in his re- 
ligious faith, great in his works, great in his symmetrj', great in his 
practical handling of the things of personal, social, and political life. 
Great in his experience of life, great in his wisdom, great in his good- 
ness and sweetness, and great in his modesty and simplicity. 

We know of no man dying in America who has been wortliier than 
he of public eulogies and public monuments. We know of nothing 
more creditable to his countrymen than the universal respect that has 
been paid to his memory. 



' Thk earth may ring, from shore to shore, 

With echoes of a glorious name; 
But he, whose loss our tears deplore, 

Has left hehind him, — more than fame.' 



The funeral services took place June 14, at All Souls' Church, 
where Jlr. Bryant, through many years, had been a constant attendant 
and honored member. The services were read by the pastor, Rev. Dr. 
Bellows, who delivered the funeral address. 

The body was then carried to Roslyn, and laid in its last resting- 
place, by the side of his wife, while a company of little children 
gathered around t!ie grave, placing upon it flowers as a tribute of 
respect and affection. 



" One by one we miss the voices which we loved so well to hear; 
One by one the kindly faces in the shadow disappear." 



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